“I guess we’ll never be able to convince Jones that there isn’t a ghost here,” said Jerry as they came down and started down the road toward the colored man’s cabin, where they were to have breakfast.
“Here’s something that may prove to him that the mule was the ghost,” spoke Ned, picking up a horse shoe, which was on the cabin floor.
They showed it to the negro, but he only shook his head.
“It looks like a hoss shoe, dat I admit,” said Jones, “but it’s enchanted. It’ll turn inter a snake er a tiger er suthin’ terruble ’fore long. I don’t want nothin’ t’ do with it,” and he cast it into the bushes by the side of the road.
The excitement of the night had taken none of the travelers’ appetites away, and they made a good meal. Then, once more they took the road, disappearing in a cloud of dust, while Jones, his wife, and the seven children stood and stared in wonder.
They traveled all that day with only an occasional glimpse of civilization in the shape of some house or cabin. No villages were reached, it being a centre of vast grazing lands, where only a lonely herder, or, perhaps two, remained to guard the cattle. That night they camped in the open, and found it rather uncomfortable, for it began to rain about midnight.
“I wish we were back in the cabin, with the ghost-mule and everything else,” muttered Jerry, as he tried to find a dry spot to lie down on.
But troubles can not last forever, and morning came finally, bringing a clear day and a bright sun which was very welcome.
Breakfast over they took the road once more. About noon they came to a small town that boasted of what was called the “Imperial Hotel.”